


The Art of Being Touched

by thewildwilds



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Control, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Freeform, Healing, Kuzupeko - Freeform, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Post-Despair, Smut, Therapy, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 07:33:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8241430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewildwilds/pseuds/thewildwilds
Summary: He gives her control. (It costs him nothing to give her everything.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at writing Kuzupeko smut. I personally headcanon both Peko and Fuyuhiko as ace, but I wanted to try my hand at portraying these two exploring their sexualities in a way that is (hopefully) both therapeutic and loving.
> 
> This does not follow DR3 canon, by the way, so I suppose you could consider it a canon divergence AU.
> 
> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Since waking up from the Neo World Program, romance was the furthest thing from their minds.

Peko had been one of the last to awaken. He still doesn’t know why. They had theorized that their friends would awake in the order of their “deaths,” but that was dashed to pieces when Tanaka was the first to awaken. There was no rhyme or reason to the order, but most everybody awoke from their coma in a feral state of panic. Peko was the third-to-last to awaken a little over a year later. At the time, he hoped it wasn’t because she wanted to stay dead.

They both needed to heal in every which way.

As it turned out, co-existing with a group of ex-terrorists—all with equally troubled minds—was harder than it sounded. They weren’t the same as they’d been going into the simulation. After continued communications with Makoto Naegi and his team, the Future Foundation was kind enough to send over a team for therapeutic purposes. Besides the monthly rations of food and supplies, this was perhaps their most generous offer of all.

He and the other four “survivors” had taken a leadership role of sorts while their friends were in recovery. They had all agreed that daily therapy sessions were going to be mandatory for the whole island. Some of their friends took to the news with polite agreement and some went in literally kicking and screaming. He admits, it was difficult for all of them, but it was Peko he worried about the most.

He thinks the physical therapy was the hardest for her. It must have been difficult being told all her life that she was worthwhile only so long as she could wield a blade, only to have that stripped away after being stuck in a coma for over a year. Even though he _promised_ her she would get better. It was humiliating for her to have to relearn her motor skills when she used to move with the grace of a dancer. (A killer.)

And then to come to grips with the fact that she slaughtered hundreds, _thousands,_ burned buildings and toppled establishments all in the name of despair, not because she was a tool, but because she _wanted_ to.

… Romance was the furthest thing from their minds.

Some days she would just sit there, catatonic, while he or Sonia or Hinata tried to spoon feed her lunch. He knows it must have been a mortifying ordeal when she couldn’t so much as pick up a salad fork, but still, she had to _eat._

He hadn't fared much better, but he had a year head start over her, and he could move without the assistance of a wheelchair. The therapy sessions helped, and his sense of duty to the island was enough of a kick in the pants for him. (Even though sometimes he could hear Sonia quietly crying in her cabin. Even though Owari had trouble keeping down her food.)

He hadn’t realized he’d been avoiding the topic of love until somebody slapped it in his face. In a moment of uninformed thoughtlessness, Mioda had playfully asked when the wedding between him and Peko would be. He had to swiftly put an end to that conversation before it escalated. (And he gets it. Mioda uses humor as a coping mechanism.) If there were one thing he would never want to rush, it would be his relationship with Peko.

It was never a matter of whether they loved each other or not, it was always a matter of where and when. When they were younger, he was helpless to do anything about this power imbalance, this impenetrable barrier thrust between them. (And he thinks that may have been one of the reasons why he’d plummeted into despair.)

But they're both broken. Maybe not in the same way, but similar enough. And sometimes that's enough to quell the demons stirring in their souls.

When Peko regained the ability to walk was when she finally started to blossom. Having some mobile independence did wonders for her confidence. She'd formed a surprising bond with the one they used to call Togami, the one who never had a name of their own. She’d found a sort of kinship from their own struggle of existing. He hadn’t felt a shred of petty jealousy, that she had found comfort in somebody other than him. He could never deny her the friendship she’d missed in her adolescence.

Day by day, step by step, she had learned that her needs were just as important as anyone else’s, that she could ask for things and the world would keep on turning. Most of all, that she could say no. She owed nobody anything. Even him. _Especially_ him. It was a hard lesson, but one she needed to hear.

She amazes him everyday. Their former classmates could hardly believe that the stoic woman with the cold stare could be one in the same with the woman who wakes up in the early mornings to pick wildflowers for her windowsill, who loves the winter season most of all, who still cries every time she watches _The Tale of Hachiko,_ who every now and then likes to indulge in a very good rice burger and melon soda.

_Of course, she's human,_ he wants to say in response to all the shocked faces. He never doubted her for a second.

The most affection she would show him was through a warm smile or briefly holding his hand. He had taken what he could get, but never pushed for more than what she offered.

Swordsmanship was still something she revered. Even without the shackles of being a hitman or a tool, Peko wanted to be strong on her own. Her therapist had agreed that the repetitive motions would be a great way to help her destress. Nowadays Peko almost exclusively uses her bamboo sword and hasn't touched her katana. Nonetheless, she dove back into her kendo techniques in a way only the former Ultimate Swordsman could, and he has to admit, he thinks a bamboo sword suits her better than the real deal.

He remembers the day when the last of her chains had fallen away. They were seated in the hotel restaurant, paging through an album most recently filled with photos of Nidai's 25th birthday party. Quietly, she had pulled the album aside, leaned over, and kissed his cheek. “I think I'm ready to love you now,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “Is that something you still want to do?”

He's not ashamed to admit he cried like a baby as he held her face between his hands and blubbered, “Peko Pekoyama, I love you so goddamn much.”

(They'll never be truly free of their demons, not really. But they'll be there for each other, always, and that's what matters.)

Eventually they moved on to sharing the same cabin. They couldn’t escape the teasing jeers from their friends. Mioda remarked about the possibility of little Kuzuryuus running around the island one day, and in retaliation, Hanamura had warned them to always use protection. He and Peko had responded with little more than polite silence; their sex life is their own business and nobody else’s.

That's not to say they _haven't_ done anything before. They’d participated in some… fairly intense make-out sessions and their sexual encounters were tender and mostly non-penetrative. Having children wasn’t something either of them were interested in, owing to their own less-than-stellar childhoods, but they had all the time in the world to explore each other’s bodies.

They touch like it's the most precious thing in the world. He can spend days just mapping out her curves, every dip and bend in her skin. She loves that she can spend these moments with him where they are connected mind and body and soul.

He loves her. He loves her with or without the sex and he’s so lucky that she loves him back.

After retiring to their cabin for the night following a fun day with their friends at the movies, they sit on the edge of their bed, both stripped free of their clothes. They've had months to get comfortable with each other's nudity. When the nights are cold is when Peko enjoys intimacy the most so she can share in his body heat.

Peko has her lips pressed against his, showering him with heated kisses, and he'd be responding to them more if something else weren't already dancing around in his mind.

It's something he's thought about for a while, something he wants, but he's not sure how to bring it up. He thinks they'll both enjoy it, but if he’s not careful there’s still the tiniest chance she may retreat back into that dark corner of her mind. He doesn’t want to scare her, never wants to make her feel uncomfortable while in such a vulnerable state.

… But if he doesn’t…

Mustering up his courage, he breaks the kiss. “Hey, Peko?”

“Yes?” She blinks, a mixture of worry and curiosity etched on her features. Her lips are redder and a bit swollen from their kisses and he tries not to focus on them too much as he continues.

“Um. L-Let’s try something together.”

“Like what?”

He places his hands upon her shoulders. (She’s wearing her hair down for the occasion. The wavy strands tickle his knuckles.) His words feel like glue stuck to his throat but he presses on. “I thought maybe… we could focus on you tonight. Just… whatever you want. You get to decide what we do.”

Peko knits her eyebrows. “Me?”

He nods.

“… But what about you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he laughs, and he already knows it’s the wrong thing to say. Peko has spent a lifetime worrying about him. Even though she's more and more sure of her own needs everyday, reconciling what she _has_ to do with what she _wants_ to do is still difficult for her, and he never wants to disrespect the hardships she's gone through to keep him safe up to this point.

Hoping to erase that concerned crease in her brow, he takes one of her hands in his and brushes his lips across her knuckles. “Peko, trust me. I like what you like. When you're happy, I'm happy. Hell, I’m _happiest_ when you’re happy.”

Her expression softens and her shoulders relax, but even with his reassurances, she still looks a bit worried. He understands. Peko has never liked being the center of attention, preferring to fade into the shadows unless absolutely necessary. Therapy sessions were difficult for this reason alone. But he loves her, all of her, not just the parts that aren’t broken.

Tenderly, he gathers her up in his arms and strokes his hand up and down her back. “We don’t have to do anything if you really don’t want to. You get to say no. You get to choose, always. I will never stop loving you, and I won’t love you any less over something like this. Okay?”

He feels her nod against his neck.

She takes a deep breath. And then: “All right. I… I want to try.”

“Are you sure?”

She smiles—admittedly the best way to reassure him since she used to do it so rarely—and nods. “Yes. I’m sure.”

He feels his own tensions ease away. “Okay. Then you take the lead.”

“How?”

“Follow your instincts. Do what comes naturally.”

He sits and waits for her, tries not to say or do anything that may scare her before she’s ready.

After a few seconds, she shimmies forward on the bed until their knees are touching and wraps her arms around his neck. Slowly, she slides her palms over his skull, nails softly scratching against his scalp. She loves how bristly his hair feels, and he certainly can’t complain, not with the way pleasant shivers race down his spine with each sweep of her hands. She draws closer, close enough to brush the tip of her nose against the side of his, and in a voice so quiet he almost doesn’t catch it, she breathes against his lips, “Touch me.”

He pulls back a bit so he can meet her eyes. “Where?”

She hesitates, cheeks flushing red. She flutters a hand over her breast. “… Here.”

He happily obliges. He starts at her waist, sliding upward, fingers dancing over her ribcage. She’s been eating so much better lately, regaining all that lean muscle that makes her so strong, inside and out. He ghosts along the sides of her breasts, and she sighs as he takes each one firmly in hand.

He kneads her flesh gently, marveling even now at the contrast between the softness of her breasts and the toned muscle of her abs. She’s always been a wonder to him, silk and steel wrapped up in a package that is beautiful and fierce and so uniquely Peko.

Her breath hitches, growing more and more labored as he grips and massages. He alternates the pressure of his hands, mapping out her responses, what makes her sigh and what makes her bite her lip in pleasure.

“Is that good?”

“Yes…”

Her nipples have pebbled into tight peaks beneath his palms. He pinches one gently and hears her gasp. Instead of saying anything, her fingers return to his hair, and he takes that as his cue to continue. He rolls her nipples between thumb and forefinger, tugging lightly while she squirms.

Without prompting, she leans forward and kisses him, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. He opens up for her and can’t help the moan that escapes as she delves in eagerly. Their tongues dance together, sliding and rubbing against each other. Peko is growing bolder by the second, uncertainty falling away as they’re both swept up in passion and arousal. She pulls away from him and he can see where the mix of their saliva wets her bottom lip.

“Touch me again, here. With your mouth.”

There’s no longer any hesitancy in her command so he wastes no time. His lips replace one of his hands, kissing around her areola and circling it with his tongue. She hums her approval, fingers gently clutching at the back of his head to hold him right where she wants him. He stops only briefly to lavish attention on her other breast, repeating his ministrations. Carefully, he takes her nipple between his teeth and nips, causing her grip on his head to tighten. He soothes the bite with his lips and tongue, lapping all around and providing gentle suction.

She tugs lightly on the back of his head and he eases off.

“Now, touch me lower, please…” she says, voice roughened.

“Hands or mouth?” he asks, sounding just as hoarse.

“… Mouth,” she answers.

Peko falls back against the pillows, draping herself across the bed more comfortably, and he takes the moment to appreciate just how lucky he is that this powerful, gorgeous, brilliant woman is his lover. She pulls him out of his thoughts by guiding him on top of her, smiling sweetly. He pecks her once on the lips and trails his mouth downward, nibbling at the flesh beneath her breasts where the sweat has begun to stick. He makes a path with his kisses, over her belly where he briefly traces the channels of her muscles with his tongue, and then lower still. Diligently, he ignores the ache of his own arousal as he travels down her body. He mouths at the crease of her leg where it joins her hip and Peko’s breathing quickens in anticipation.

Instead of homing in on the most obvious destination, he goes farther down and presses a kiss to the inside of her ankle. He does the same to its twin. Peko makes a slightly frustrated noise, but doesn’t otherwise complain, so he continues on. He backtracks, peppering kisses along her calf, higher and higher.

As he noses over a particularly sensitive spot behind her knee, he hears her giggle. Curiously, he nudges the spot again and gets the same reaction, feeling her muscles jump beneath his fingertips. A wicked grin spreads on his lips. He teases and nuzzles at the same spot again and again until she’s squealing and quivering with laughter.

“Fuyuhiko, stop!” she manages between breathy giggles.

He complies _(she’s_ the one in control after-all), but not before planting a small kiss on the same spot in apology. It’s another kind of healing to be able to laugh during something like this, an impossibility they had never considered for themselves in their teenage years. She not only wants this, she’s _enjoying_ it, and that alone lifts his spirits to ridiculous heights.

He kisses up her inner thighs and finally hoists her legs over his shoulders, spreading her open for him. He can already see how wet she is, how much she wants this. Blindly, he reaches for her hand, and he feels her fingers lace with his own.

“Kiss me,” she breathes. He doesn’t keep her waiting much longer.

He goes in slow, pressing a kiss to the soft hairs over her entrance. He presses another kiss to her folds and he hears her sharp intake of breath. She’s slick and warm. He mouths all along her heat, kissing her as passionately as he does the rest of her body.

He's insatiable, unable to resist licking at her wetness, dying for a taste. He laps at her folds with broad strokes of his tongue, encouraged by the way she gasps and sighs. Her salty bitter taste bites at his gums, her heady scent filling his nose and he thinks he could get drunk off this feeling. He groans, can’t help himself, and the vibration of it against her core makes her tremble.

He hardens his tongue, flicks the tip against her clit and her thighs twitch around him. He does it again and she moans. He traces patterns around her clit, circles and hearts and stars, and she’s so very wet he can feel it slicking his chin. Still lapping at her hungrily, he turns his gaze up and chances a look at Peko.

She has her eyes squeezed shut from the onslaught of pleasure he’s showering upon her. Her face is so red, flushed and sweaty like she’s been running a marathon. Her pink lips are slightly parted and she has one of her knuckles between her teeth, biting down as she pants and moans. Her eyes open briefly enough to meet his.

“Keep going. More,” she commands, and never before has he heard anything so erotic.

Her clit fits perfectly between his lips so he sucks lightly. Her hips jerk up and she grinds against his mouth and he can’t help but chuckle at how excited she’s getting.

He moves back lower and darts his tongue inside her core. He feels the shudder roll up her body. He curls his tongue, swirls it around. She moans his name, spurring him to do it again and again, in and out, in and out.

He alternates between dipping his tongue in – stroking her inner walls – and lavishing attention on her swollen clit. She’s mewling like a kitten, rocking her hips to the rhythm of his tongue, demanding more, harder, faster. He’s meticulous, cleaning the wetness painting her folds and diving back in to draw more of it out of her. Never before has she been so wound up, and his only thought is that he wants to keep doing this forever. He wants her to show him what she wants, exactly the way she wants it and he’ll give it to her gladly because she deserves so much after everything she’s been through.

Her breathing grows erratic and even the gyrating of her hips has grown unsteady as she draws closer and closer to orgasm.

“Don’t stop,” she pants. He wouldn’t dream of stopping now.

Her moans morph to frantic whimpers, an endless torrent of ecstasy and praise. Her thighs clamp around his head, desperate and needy. She squeezes his hand tighter still. Her hips suddenly snap up off the bed and she comes crying out his name and she’s so beautiful, _so beautiful._ He clutches her thigh with his free hand, holding her there against his mouth and he tries to keep up with her through her orgasm, tries to draw out every delicious second as she quivers and pants and before he knows it his vision is white, white, hot, _so good,_ he can’t _see,_ oh god, he can’t—

When he comes to, they’re both panting and sweaty all over. He crawls up her heated body and all but collapses beside her. Immediately, she draws his face to hers and kisses him, tasting the tang of herself upon his tongue. He returns the kiss lazily, rubbing his lips against hers, too drained to do much else.

Her fingers trail down his chest, slicked with sweat. She reaches for him and feels him soft between his legs. She breaks the kiss, surprise coloring her features.

“I-I already…” His face goes red, but he’s not ashamed. This is also something new, that he gets off to her getting off. Before tonight it was something he never even considered but now it makes all the sense in the world. (He may get addicted to this sensation.) They’re learning and growing and it’s beautiful that they get to do it together.

She smiles angelically and pecks the corner of his mouth. They help clean each other up, neither of them caring for the way the sheets stick to their skin after sex. Wordlessly, she fits herself beneath the crook of his arm and he draws the covers over both their bodies. Even though she’s still the taller of the two of them, Peko likes being cuddled in his arms.

“Thank you,” he whispers against her hair.

Peko laughs, tips her head back and kisses his chin. “Thank you,” she repeats and rests her head back against his chest. This is how they are. This is how she wants them to be. Equals. Give and take. Neither one of them left further behind than the other.

Together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are greatly appreciated.
> 
> If you liked what you read, please consider following me on my tumblr for future stories, artwork, and more. Check it out @ thewildwilds.tumblr.com


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